


Peverell's Legacy

by dreamoforange



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Inheritance, Master of Death Harry Potter, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9565730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamoforange/pseuds/dreamoforange
Summary: At the end of life, there's death... unless you are Harry Potter and never actually stopped being the Master of Death.When Harry dies after a long, happy life with his wife Ginny and their children, he wakes up in King's Cross, and not wherever actual dead people go. Instead of Albus Dumbledore greeting him, this time his old friend Hermione greets him, and explains that for him to truly pass on, he has to choose another life and live it to its fullest.Of course, that only means he has to be the saviour of the wizarding world yet again.





	1. King's Cross, revisited

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic on AO3, as well as my first fic in a few years. I'm a bit rusty, and it feels great to be writing again.
> 
> This chapter doesn't have much action in it, but it sets the tone so that the real action can start next chapter.
> 
> Unbeta'd as of yet.

Harry opened his eyes.

The King’s Cross station was shining white, and though Harry hadn’t expected to see it again, he wasn’t surprised. He looked around the station, the white light warming his limbs and slowly taking away the small pangs of pain he had gotten used to a long time ago.

He was alone, and after a few heartbeats, he looked underneath the bench he was sitting on, just to be sure, but there was no malformed baby there. Harry sighed a sigh of relief - he hadn’t expected for the horcrux to still be there, and he was glad it was gone.

“He disappeared a long time ago, Harry,” a soft voice said next to him, and as he looked towards the voice, he started smiling.

“Hermione,” he grinned, and reached out to hug her against him. She smiled back and let him. Her hair was as bushy as it had been in her youth, and there was a glimmer of kind knowledge in her eyes still, just like he’d liked to remember her.

“We’ve been waiting for you for a while now,” Hermione said, and pulled out of their hug.

“I know,” Harry said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, not really,” Hermione snorted. “You wouldn’t have been able to die as long as you weren’t ready. It just happened to happen sooner than we all thought - you couldn’t have waited a few more years? I had a bet running.”

“ _You_ were betting about my death?”

“Not only me,” Hermione shrugged. “Professor Dumbledore won.”

“Of course he did,” Harry rolled his eyes, then frowned. “What do you mean, ‘I wouldn’t have been able to die’?”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. “You really thought you’d be free of the Hallows if you threw them away, didn’t you?”

Harry looked into her sad eyes. He nodded. The Resurrection Stone was lost in the Forbidden Forest, had been even since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the Elder Wand had been broken and thrown away. He had only kept the invisibility cloak, and had passed it onto his and Ginny’s children.

“I can’t be the Master of Death still,” Harry exclaimed. “I don’t have any of the Hallows left!”

“You threw them away, but they still belong to you,” Hermione said. “The Wand needs to be stolen, and the Stone needs to be found for ownership to pass on. Yes, you gave the cloak to our children, and that would’ve done it, hadn’t you still been in possession of the other two. The rules are different for a Master of Death.”

Harry stood up from the bench in frustration. “So there is no way to break the chain of the Hallows?”

She thought for a moment, pushing some hair between her ear. “I suppose you dying would break the chain, but I’m not sure. There’s never been a Master of Death like you before.”

“But I’m dead now, so that should be it right?” Harry smiled and turned to look at her.

“Well, technically-”

_“Technically_ ,” Harry interrupted. “I’m technically dead right now, so there’s no way to be sure?”

“You’re in the In-Between,” Hermione said and stood up, taking his hand again. “It’s kind of like the Muggle Limbo. If you’re here, you’re never _dead_. But you’re not alive either. You just have to move on.”

“And how do I do that?” Harry sighed, but he hadn’t even closed his mouth fully when the air was full of noise - train whistles, motors running, and it echoed around them. Harry flinched at the sudden sounds, but Hermione didn’t move at all.

“This is a train station, isn’t it?” she grinned.

Harry turned his back to her, and gaped at the sight of dozens of trains lined up in the previously empty platforms, looking like they had been there all along.

“Where will they take me?” Harry said weakly, his voice failing him.

“On.”

“That is not an answer,” he spun around to face her. “What happens if I board a train?”

“It depends on the train, Harry,” Hermione frowned. “Besides, it’s not as if you have a choice, not unless you’d prefer to spend all eternity as a ghost. If you want to be truly free of the Hallows’ influence, you have to move on.”

“As a ghost, I’d still be the Master of Death?” Harry asked, sighing as Hermione nodded, confirming his thoughts. “Alright. How do I choose a train?”

She smiled softly at him. “Pick one, I’ll tell you some of what awaits you.”

Harry turned towards the trains again, pointing at the one directly in front of him. It was an old train, and it reminded him of the Hogwarts Express. It had been completely black once, but now it was red with rust, and it seemed like it was barely holding itself together.

“You would be Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived,” Hermione said with distaste. “A chance to do it all again.”

Harry hastily pointed at another train, this one pale green, and with steam pouring out of it.

“You would be Harry Potter, your parents would be stuck in St. Mungo’s,” Hermione said softly. “Neville would be the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“Would I still live with the Dursleys?”

“Yes.”

Quickly, he pointed at another train. This one was sleek looking, more muggle, and it was bright yellow with silver accents. It looked a lot more muggle than most of the other trains in the station, and it seemed to be run on electricity instead of steam.

“You would have a chance to end it before it all began,” she said. He turned his head to look at her.

“Is that all you know?”

“No, but it is all I can tell you until you make your decision.”

“When did it all begin?” Harry said, his mind going over the possibilities - perhaps she meant before Hogwarts? But that would not make sense, the first War had already happened. Maybe Halloween, 1981, but then Voldemort would’ve still had his horcruxes around.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Hermione admonished. “It’s going to take forever for you to get it right. It’s going to take you to before Voldemort was truly in power.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t tell me any more until I made up my mind?”

“Harry,” Hermione scoffed. “We both know that you’ve already made up your mind.”

“Yeah alright,” Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m choosing this one. Tell me more?”

The other trains were disappearing together with the steam pouring out of their chimneys, and soon the only train remaining was the shiny muggle train.

“Well, to start, you can’t be Harry Potter,” Hermione said. “Or a Potter for that matter. You can’t have a name that suggests you’re closely related with anyone alive.”

“So what do I have to call myself?” Harry asked. “I assume Black is out as well?”

“Don’t be silly, of course it is,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I would suggest you to be a Peverell, there hasn’t been a Peverell in a long time, plus you have ties to two of the three Peverell brothers.”

“Hermione,” Harry groaned. “Please don’t count Voldemort’s ancestor as one of mine.”

“I’m not going to ignore the truth because it makes you uncomfortable,” she said. “However accidental, he made you his magical heir, and it’s better if you used it to your advantage rather than pretend that it doesn’t exist.”

“If I were you, I would make sure that you have ties to Antioch Peverell as well,” she continued, not caring about his protests. “He never had any children, so if you could get his approval as his heir as well, you would no problem claiming the Peverell legacy.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “How do I get his approval then?”

“Well, I would have to meet you first,” a strong voice said behind Harry, causing him to spin around. A stern-looking man walked towards them with determined steps. He had his arms behind his back, and he was dressed in a long sweeping robe in a soft gray material. “I am Antioch Peverell.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Hermione said cheerily. “How nice of you to join us.”

“No need to thank me, girl,” Antioch said. “The sooner we get done the better, no matter if I approve of you or not. This moment of indecision has already gone on long enough.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, not particularly impressed with the man. Antioch reminded him a bit too much of Snape  for Harry to be completely at ease with him.

“Well then boy, let me see you closer,” Antioch said and reached out a hand towards Harry. “Let us get this over with.”

“Don’t call me boy,” Harry said, staring back at the man. Antioch waited a few more moments for Harry to take his hand, but when he didn’t move, Antioch leaned forward and grabbed the lapels of Harry’s clothes.

Antioch stared into Harry’s eyes, and Harry, expecting a Legilimency attack, tensed, and sneered back. Eventually, Antioch smiled a grim smile.

“You will do nicely, boy,” Antioch said, releasing Harry’s clothes. “I like your spirit.”

“My name is Harry, not ‘boy’,” Harry said, taking a few steps back. He couldn’t resist brushing imaginary dust particles off of his clothes.

“I suppose you’re right,” Antioch frowned. “But that is not a name for the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell, especially the Lord. Hadrian Peverell sounds much better.”

“It still feels as though it’s missing something,” Hermione mused. “Maybe he should take your name as well?”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Harry grumbled. “It is my new name you’re talking about after all.”

“Of course you do, Harry,” Hermione said softly, and put her hand on his shoulder. “As long as you agree with what your new ancestor and I decide.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, I submit to your superior knowledge and experience. But don’t pick anything too much like a Malfoy.”

“Hadrian Antioch Peverell?” Antioch tested. “It is a good name, and if none of you have any objections, I will considered this matter settled. You have my approval, Lord Peverell.”

When Harry blinked, Antioch had disappeared, and Harry turned questioning eyes at Hermione. His head was spinning with confusion about what had just happened, and what he really was supposed to do in his new life.

“Is that really it?” Harry asked. “Nothing actually happened.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Hermione scolded. “A lot happened - your new ancestor gave you your new name, which should mean you are actually part of his bloodline. I am not completely sure of the outcome - I mean, there were no books on anything like this back in the world, and there are no books on the other end-”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted. “Was there anything else you needed to tell me before I need to take the train? It’s not that I don’t want to talk more, but it feels as if we’re running out of time.”

“Oh, right!” Hermione exclaimed. “When you wake up in the new world, you will have to go to Gringotts and do a bloodline test, to see if there’s any money left for you in any of the vaults. Voldemort should be easy to handle at this point, he shouldn’t be of legal age yet, so make sure you deal with that before it’s too late.”

“Money, and Voldemort, got it,” Harry said, and got on the yellow train. Everything was slowly fading to a misty white around them. “Nothing else?”

Everything was turning so foggy Harry could barely see Hermione anymore, and his hearing was fading away. The only thing he heard before the station disappeared completely was Hermione shouting one last tip.

“Talk to the Potters to get help!”

 


	2. Time is Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up in his new life, and has to handle the first thing on his to-do list: getting hold of some money.

Harry opened his eyes.

The ceiling above him was dark, he noted, or perhaps the room was just clouded in shadows. He was laying on something soft, and as he breathed in stale air, he started coughing. The air was full of dust particles, and as Harry coughed, he stirred up more.

Harry sat up on what he realised must have been a bed a long time ago, but now all that remained was some rotten pieces of wood, as well as a mattress that now only existed as a spongy mess. It was moist, and Harry could feel it seeping into his clothes. He grimaced, and got up from the bed as quickly as possible, swaying slightly as his headache settled into the back of his head.

The room itself was not much better off than the bed, but at least it was intact. The floorboards were dark with dirt, the two small windows were boarded up, and all that remained of the wallpaper were a few tattered, graying pieces stubbornly holding on. The bare planks underneath were black with moisture.

Harry adjusted his round glasses and looked up at the ceiling in distaste - it was still mostly white and dry, but there was a suspicious-looking spot over one of the windows. He tore his eyes away from the spot, looking instead towards the door opening. The door itself was missing, and Harry could easily see into the hallway.

He spotted something just outside the room, and when he walked closer, he saw that it was a stick - a wand, to be precise. It, along with the rest of the hallway, was covered in dust, but seemed to be fine otherwise.

Harry picked it up, and polished it carefully with the arm of his still damp shirt, and after a few moments the wand hesitantly spat out a few dull yellow sparks.

“Should be fine for a while,” Harry muttered, as he cast a drying and freshening spell on himself. A _Scourgify_ on the floor followed, but only a fraction of the dirt and grime disappeared. “If this is where I have to live, I'd better find some restoration spells, or the house is gonna fall down on me in my sleep.”

Harry stopped for a moment, before he realised he had no idea when or where he was. The _where_ was more difficult, but the _when_ could be easily answered.

“Tempus Maxima!” he yelled, feeling the need to overcompensate the ill match of the wand. Sparks flew from its tip, slowly forming numbers in the air in front of Harry.

25-07-1939 11:32:12

He had travelled back one hundred and twenty two years back in time. Harry felt faint for a few long moments, before swallowing and drawing up that famous Gryffindor courage. He could do this.

He carefully explored the hallway, finding three more, mostly empty rooms. One of them had a broken bench pushed against one of the walls, and Harry assumed it might’ve served as a study once upon a time. He also found the bathroom, although that would need serious reconstruction become usable -  as far as he could see there was no running water, and the only thing that looked like it could still be used was a grimy mirror.

In the other end of what Harry realised was a cottage, was an open space that included a kitchen, a small seating area, and a separate fireplace that was large enough for a grown man to stand in.

“At least it seems like it used to be a wizarding home,” Harry mumbled to himself. “I should be able to connect that to the Floo Network, should I have need for it.”

Before that, there were more important matters that needed to be done. He stepped out through the front door, looking around the seemingly never-ending grasslands enough to be able to apparate back, and then he turned on the spot. He disappeared with a _pop…_

 

...and appeared moments later in the small alley between the Leaky Cauldron and the entrance to Diagon Alley.  Harry carefully counted out the bricks, and tapped what he hoped was still the right one. The bricked wall trembled for a moment, before changing into an archway with a sound of stone on stone.

He couldn’t help but gape and the sheer size of the crowd of people in the alley - sure, Diagon had always had loads of wizards and witches, except during wartimes, but this? Harry had never seen so many witches and wizards at the same time. Not only that, but the Alley seemed much longer than it had been in his time, with more storefronts and small alleyways than normal.

The fashion he saw as he walked towards where he knew Gringotts should be, hadn’t changed with his massive jump back in time - except for the few glimpses of Muggle clothing he could see. Wizarding folk never seem to stop wearing something just because it was ‘out of style’, but Muggle fashion did, and they were a lot less jeans and shorts, and a lot more formal attires.

A woman in a dress so green it almost hurt to look at, modelled after Queen Elizabeth I’s wedding gown, walked by. Her hair seemed to wrap around and _into_ the purple hat sitting on her head, and as she passed Harry, he could hear a distinct _burp_ coming from the hat.

After her came a gentleman dressed in a long, sweeping cape in midnight blue. Harry thought he looked more normal than the average fashion style in the Alley, but he regretted that as soon as the man turned towards Harry, showing his shapely legs, clad in crimson stockings to way above the knee.

‘ _At least I won’t stand out no matter what I wear,’_ Harry thought as he glanced down on himself, trying to find some comfort in the colourful crowd. He finally reached Gringotts, and its shining white steps and décor had not changed a bit. The metal doors were the same, and the poem warding off thieves was still visible to read.

The inside of the bank was also the same, its polished marble flooring reflecting the shining magical lights hanging from the ceiling. If Harry did everything right in this timeline, there would be no need of a caged dragon clawing its way out of this room, at least not one being an unwilling accomplice of a Horcrux hunt.

Harry walked up to one of the counters, waiting patiently for the goblin sitting there to notice him. Eventually, the goblin looked up from his large book in which he was writing down seemingly random numbers.

“Yes?” the goblin said with a sneer, sizing Harry up with his eyes.

“Er, yes, hi,” Harry started, and the goblin’s sneer only deepened. “My name is Harry - I mean, Hadrian Antioch Peverell, and I would like to do a -  a bloodline test?”

“How eloquent,” the goblin said and grinned wickedly, showing his needle-sharp teeth. He turned his attention to a large ruby lying beside the book, and with one of his sharp nails, he traced a few runes into the gem. It lit up immediately with a red glow, and the goblin looked at Harry again. “Bagnor is waiting for you in Office number 4.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. He stood there for a few more awkward moments, until the goblin pointed Harry in the right direction with a huff. “Thanks again.”

Harry shuffled his way towards the hallway the goblin had gestured at, trying to avoid drawing the attention of the other customers milling about in the hall. The hallway had the same flooring as the entrance hall, but the walls were decorated with a latticework of red stones that glimmered gently in the fire of the sconces.

Office number 4 was, contrary to its name, the fifth office in the hallway, and Harry knocked on the door. When no reply came, he stared at the brass handle for moment, before steeling himself, and opened the door.

“Come on in,” a raspy voiced said, and as Harry opened the door further, he saw that the owner was a goblin sitting behind the sole desk. “Come on now, we don’t have all day. All you’re really doing is wasting my time, and yours.”

Harry stepped into the room, and closing the door behind him, he walked over to the desk and sat down in one of the visitor chairs. “My name is Hadrian Anti-”

“Hadrian Antioch Peverell, here for a bloodline test,” the goblin interrupted. “And I am Bagnor. Anything else unnecessary you want to say?”

Harry shut his mouth with a click and shook his head.

“Good,” Bagnor sneered. He snapped his fingers, and one of the many rolls on Bagnor’s rose into the air and floated over to Harry, who grabbed it and quickly unrolled it. There was nothing written on it. “Six drops of blood in the middle of it, Mister _Peverell._ ”

When Harry let go of the plain parchment to take his mismatched wand, it stayed unrolled, floating in place. He hesitated for a moment, realising that his blood would tell the wizard exactly how big a lie his name was.

“ _Now,_ if you please,” Bagnor growled. “Unless you need a helping hand.”

Harry cursed in his head, and with a quick but gently slicing charm, he cut his left pointer finger open, letting six drops slowly drip on what Harry thought looked like middle of the parchment. A muttered _Episkey_ followed, and the parchment, having already absorbed all of the blood, rolled up again, and floated back to Bagnor.

The seconds slowly ticked by, and the roll of parchment started shining with a bright yellow glow. It suddenly changed into a grass green light, and gave out a soft chime. Bagnor grasped the roll in one of his hands, peering at Harry with malice. “Any last confessions, boy?”

Harry shook his head - if he was going down because of his bloodline, then so be it. Bagnor grinned. “Excellent.”

Bagnor slowly opened the roll, and laid it flat on his desk. Harry couldn’t see what was on it from where he was sitting - the print was too small, but he could see that the drops of blood had formed into thin red lines of what must be a family tree.

“Hadrian Antioch Peverell, born July 31st, 1902,” Bagnor read out loud. Bagnor trailed one of the lines with a long claw. “Son of Seamus Peverell and Lili Iefens.”

‘ _Seamus Peverell and Lili Iefens?_ ’ Harry thought, startled. If his blood showed that even his father was a Peverell - and with his mum’s name sounding more Welsh than he’d ever heard it pronounced before - there must be some major magic in play. ‘ _Maybe Antioch didn’t make me his magical heir, maybe he actually made me-_ ’

“A direct bloodline heir to Antioch Peverell,” Bagnor interrupted Harry’s thoughts, and Harry met Bagnor’s souring expression with astonishment. “Eligible for the Peverell Legacy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seamus is the Irish version of James, and Iefens is the Welsh version of Evans, so Harry's parents are still James and Lily.


End file.
